


Welcoming the Darkness

by gingertart50



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Heavy Angst, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1572146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingertart50/pseuds/gingertart50
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus did once make plans to survive, but then Albus intervened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcoming the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the #angstfest on Severus_sighs. Contains gloom, doom and despair, so don't say you haven't been warned...

He woke, or at least, became aware that he _was_ aware. He was aware of darkness, (impenetrable, stygian) and silence, (utter lack of any sounds except those created by his own breathing) and of being cold to the depths of his bones. He attempted to move, but there was a dull knocking sound, and a pain in his elbow.  
  
As was his wont, upon waking in unfamiliar surroundings, he remained utterly still while assessing his circumstances.  
  
"I am Severus Snape, son of Eileen Prince and Tobias Snape, and I am thirty-eight years of age." There, that was a good start. "The last thing that I remember... was seeing Harry Potter's eyes." The scene was fuzzy, swirling in and out of focus as if the event had taken place a long time ago and far away, a faded memory. Memory... the sight of Potter's eyes had triggered one of the many Legilimentic charms he had installed in his own mind, releasing the carefully hoarded and hidden memories of Potter's mother, of Dumbledore, and of his own errors, loyalties, and affiliations. No wonder his mind felt as if it had been plundered. He had given a vital chunk of his past to the Potter brat.  
  
Potter had come upon him immediately after the Dark Lord had left him to the mercies of Nagini. Slowly, the recollection of pain, blood, and fear coalesced in his consciousness. His breathing deepened. He clenched his hands, and waited until his heartbeat steadied again.  
  
He had survived the attack, of course. He had been prepared for it, multiple layers of charms and counter-curses, anchored deep in his psyche, his body, and his clothes, created back in the days when Dumbledore had been alive and Snape had cared, and had allowed himself to believe that there was a future beyond the death of the Dark Lord.  
  
What had happened to him subsequently? He remembered nothing.  
  
His clothing seemed to be thoroughly inadequate, perhaps a cotton or linen sheet, and his bed as hard as stone. He sniffed warily, detecting newly hewn wood, fresh earth, his own sweat, and a hint of flowers. Dying lilies, their petals bruised, pollen scattered and their perfume fading, white lilies, lilies for his love. The air was heavy, and his own breath was reflected back upon his face, warm and moist.  
  
He did not need to raise his hands to know that the underside of his coffin lid lay inches above his nose.  
  
This, then, was to be his fate. No welcome oblivion for Severus Snape, but a weary dragging of increasingly foetid air into his lungs, until he died of suffocation.  
  
"Fucking typical," he said, and his voice was loud and muffled in his ears. Only years of severely applied self-restraint prevented him from screaming and thrashing in blind panic. There was no point in attempting to lift the coffin lid; the scent of freshly turned soil told its own story. The idiots had buried him without bothering to check if his magic had been extinguished. What the hell had Poppy Pomfrey been thinking?  
  
Perhaps she was no longer thinking; perhaps she had not survived. Maybe the world was now under the dominion of Tom Riddle, and Harry Potter lay broken upon the ground for the Death Eaters to laugh at and his friends to mourn.  
  
He closed his eyes, wondering if he had sufficient power remaining in his body to cast a wandless killing curse, and get it all over with.  
  
"A bit cramped in here, my boy."  
  
The voice startled him awake, to clench his hands in his inadequate winding sheet.  
  
"Albus?"  
  
"I don't care much for the view either, but to each his own."  
  
"Albus, where are you?"  
  
"Down by your left foot, I believe. Well, you succeeded in not quite cocking it up after all. I did have my doubts when you set up that ridiculous scene in the Forest of Dean, and again when Minerva, Pomona, and Filius attacked you. I suppose one works with what one is given and hopes for the best."  
  
"You were a manipulative old bastard but more to the point, you're dead!"  
  
"So are you, or soon will be. It comes to us all, the next great adventure. It's terribly exciting, isn't it?"  
  
"No!" Snape exclaimed, and kicked out with his left foot. His toes met wood and he gritted his teeth until the pain subsided.  
  
"Silly Severus," Dumbledore's voice chided, "You can't hurt me – dead, remember?"  
  
"Fuck you!"  
  
Dumbledore clicked his seemingly non-existent tongue.  
  
"Such language is unbecoming to a headmaster. You never heard me swear like that."  
  
"Are you a ghost?"  
  
"I don't know. Are you?"  
  
"I hope not, but it would be just my luck to be stuck here for eternity, wouldn't it?"  
  
"Can't help you there, my boy."  
  
"Fuck off out of my coffin then, back to your poncy marble sarcophagus."  
  
"Jealous, are we? You always were an envious boy, wanting what you couldn't have and hating those who had more than you."  
  
"What about you? Swanning around in sparkly purple robes and pining for your long-lost bad boy? Condemning history to repeat itself by your refusal to accept that Slytherins are deserving of anything, just because one once broke your heart?"  
  
There was silence for a while then Dumbledore sighed.  
  
"I tried, Severus, I did try."  
  
"Not hard enough, it seems. Now leave me alone."  
  
"If you insist. I have one more message for you first."  
  
"You never give up, do you? Are you a figment of my imagination?"  
  
"Does it matter what I say? You'll believe what you want to believe anyway; you always did. Just remember, Severus, to stop thinking like a Muggle."  
  
Snape waited, but all he could hear was the elevated thumping of his heart and his rasping breath. The air was becoming rank with his sweat.  
  
He centred himself, pressing the tips of his fingers together in a narrow space on top of his chest, to create a focus. Eventually, when he had achieved as calm a state as he could manage, he croaked, " _Expecto patronum_.  
  
He screwed up his eyes against the sudden light and whispered "Fetch help from Miss Granger, Potter – anyone. Tell them that Severus Snape has been buried alive."  
  
The silver brightness vanished, and he allowed his hands to fall to his sides.  
  
Somewhere in his mind, there was a deeply hidden charm that would put him into a coma, barely breathing, his bodily functions almost shut down until such time as he might safely wake. He activated it, and welcomed the darkness.

* * *

  
  
"Do you think he'll ever wake, Madam Spencer?"  
  
The matron sighed, gazing down at the still, pale shape of Hogwarts' ex-headmaster. The elves tended to him, transferring nutrients into his stomach, cleaning him, casting the charms that cushioned his thin skin and prevented sores, trimming his white hair and his fingernails  
  
"I don't know, Professor Potter."  
  
"My Grand-dad still wonders if he did the right thing by going back to the Shack for him."  
  
The nurse nodded and then quietly closed the door, leaving Severus Snape to his dreams.


End file.
